From A Certain Point of View
by lesqui
Summary: "I like to turn things upside down, to watch pictures and situations from another perspective." -Ursus Wehrli- A collection of one-shots, all about Ahsoka from the clones' POV. There will be Rexsoka, though this story won't necessarily focus on that.
1. Bly

_This takes place in season 1, episode 13 '_ Jedi Crash _.'_ _While (re)watching it, some of the interactions caught my attention and sparked an idea and, well, now there's this._

* * *

 **Through the Eyes of Commander Bly**

"Okay. You and Bly go south, Rex and I will stay here with Anakin."

Commander Bly stood behind General Secura, listening to her conversation with the young commander. As he did, he studied her, the commander, the youngling. That's what she was: a youngling, a child, barely old enough to be taken seriously as an officer, not nearly old enough to be fighting in a war.

A thought pricked the back of his mind that she—the Padawan—was older than him. _But I've been trained for this. She hasn't._ A fact that was evidenced by her response to her master's injuries; it was purely emotive, and not at all logical, as it would've been if she were trained for war.

"No, Ahsoka." The General's voice, with her lilting accent, was gentle, but firm. "In order to get help quickly, we must work together."

The commander's big, blue eyes turned towards the general, wide and pleading, begging the older Jedi to allow her to remain with her master. Bly watched the interaction curiously. Jedi were such strange creatures, a mix between tangible and untouchable; fallible, but possessing skills that could make them immortal; aloof, yet affected so deeply by little things that seemed to hold no importance.

The Padawan was arguing, trying to convince General Secura to let her remain with her master. The general, ever patient, explained to the commander why it was _not_ a good idea. Bly, as usual, agreed with his general's sound logic. The Jedi might not be trained for war, but at least _his_ general had common sense.

Something seemed to pass between the two. Commander Tano stared up at the general, blue eyes searching for _something._ Whatever she found, it wasn't what she wanted, and she sighed silently, shoulders slumping. In the span of a minute, Bly had witnessed his general being a military officer, a Jedi Master, and then something entirely different—something softer, something that was willing to comfort the young girl, willing to offer physical contact as a small measure of support. It was all—it was odd. _Jedi are odd._

Understanding her argument was lost, Commander Tano turned away from them, shoulders heaving in another sigh, before she raised her hand to her brow, shielding her eyes from the light of the setting sun, searching along the horizon. Sensing the shift of focus in the two Jedi, Bly put his helmet back on, quickly scouting the small clearing they'd crashed in, looking for anything that could give them any sort of information about the planet.

Something caught his eye, small and rectangular, a tablet of some sort, with a drawing engraved into it. After making sure it wasn't dangerous in any way, he picked it up, approaching the Jedi again. "General Secura, look." She turned towards him, the Padawan trailing behind her. He handed her the tablet, speaking as she studied it. "We're not the only one's here on this planet. There has to be some kind of _something_ here."

As the words left his mouth, something sounded in the distance, a mix between a screech and a snarl, and entirely unfriendly. The clones—all five of them—raised their rifles slightly, those wearing helmets switching on the headlamps. There was a few seconds where no one spoke, searching for any sign of danger. When nothing jumped out to attack them, Bly flicked off his headlamps, the others following suit, and turned to face his general.

"If you don't mind me asking, General Secura, where exactly are we going?"

She glanced around one more time before turning entirely towards him. "To go find the people who live on this planet."

He felt a brief flash of frustration. _Yes, General, I figured that much._ He tamped it down, though, making sure his voice was even and calm as he asked a more direct question, one he hoped would get him an actual answer. "Where are we going to find them? We have no idea where they are."

Wordlessly, the Padawan took the tablet from the general, fingers gently brushing over the image. "It seems to me that the people we're looking for live near giant trees." She tossed the tablet into the backpack she had slung over her shoulders, turning to face the general, searching for— _approval,_ Bly realized. _She feels guilty for her master's injuries. She's trying to make up for it._

Again he was struck with how young she really was, and just how much her actions proved it. Everyone knew General Skywalker's injuries weren't her fault. They weren't anyone's fault. And perhaps, if she were older, she would understand that.

The general offered a hint of a smile, offered that approval the Padawan so desperately needed. "Very perceptive, Padawan." And Bly suddenly realized what his general had done. General Secura was a skilled Jedi; she would have been able to deduce the location of the planet's inhabitants on her own. He felt his respect for her rise another few notches, even as he watched Commander Tano approach her master's prone form and kneel at his feet.

His amber eyes tracked her, wondering why she was so worried. General Skywalker was a powerful Jedi, an astounding warrior; everyone knew it. He could take care of himself just fine, even while injured. The Padawan's worry was irrational.

He thought briefly that these types of actions stemmed from her age or maybe from the unorthodox style of teaching Skywalker had. _A mixture of both?_ Though perhaps more of it came from her age. Something akin to relief trickled through his veins, relief his Jedi was older, with better reign over her impulses. Old enough he knew she could take care of herself, because the little Padawan was just that: _little_ and _young,_ and anger mixed with his relief that the Republic, the Jedi, would send a _child_ out to lead troops.

Captain Rex moved quickly from where he was standing on the other side of the clearing, moving into a position where he could offer the Padawan silent support. His helmet was tucked under one arm, and Bly recognized it as another tactic of comfort. Sentient beings found comfort in other faces, rather than black T-visors.

"Be strong, master." Her voice, so young, sounded as if she were pleading. "Just a little bit longer. Rex will watch over you."

General Secura spoke, again firm but gentle. "It is time to go."

The commander's head sank slightly, and Rex spoke up. "Don't worry, kid. I'll take good care of him."

The words were halting, coming out of his mouth at an odd cadence, and Bly could tell the captain really had no idea how to deal with an emotionally distraught child-Jedi. He hefted his gun, though, in a gesture of reassurance. _I'll cover him, commander,_ he seemed to be telling her. Her head turned slightly in response to his words, and she gave a sharp nod, standing up, movements heavy with reluctance.

Finally ready to move out, the general twisted to face Rex. "Captain Rex, keep your locater on. We should be back by daybreak with whoever or _what_ ever lives on this planet."

Rex nodded once. "Got it, General Secura."

The general approached Bly's position, but the Padawan remained where she was. Rex spoke again, another effort to reassure her. "Hey, kid." She looked at him over her shoulder. His entire demeanor softened into something Bly had never seen from the captain. It was almost as if Rex was no longer the commander's subordinate, but something like a close friend to the Padawan, giving her the extra _oomph_ she needed, and Bly wondered why. "Good luck," the captain said, the words almost as if they were meant only for the Padawan.

One edge of his lips curved upwards in a half-smile, and the Padawan returned it, nodding once. Something passed between them, Bly saw, much as something had passed between the general and the commander. Except this one seemed different, more important. It was more than support and comfort and reassurance, he could see that much, but he couldn't quite tell _what_ exactly it was. And, another look at the captain and the commander showed neither one appeared to have noticed it.

General Secura approached the Padawan again, a hint of urgency in her steps. "Come on, guys. Let's move out."

The Padawan turned, finally moving without any reluctance or disagreement. Whatever the captain had said—or not said—seemed to have worked, and she darted in front of the group of clones, footsteps light and rapid, not appearing to realize that the captain was tracking her with his gaze.

Bly kept an eye on the Padawan as they left the clearing, though he couldn't come up with an exact reason why. _She's young,_ he decided finally. _Young and uncertain._ He felt another swell of relief, and maybe gratitude, that the Jedi he'd been assigned to work under was neither young nor uncertain. _Rex would do it,_ he realized suddenly. Even if he hadn't worked long with the captain, Bly felt a somewhat-brotherly connection with him. _I'll cover her, captain._

They picked up speed, moving at an easy lope. The commander was a few steps behind the general, and Bly moved slightly so he was beside her. Her eyes darted in his direction and she offered a small twitch of her lips in acknowledgement. _She really is just a kid._ Bly felt another drop of anger, accompanied by a new sense of protectiveness he'd never felt towards his general. _Just a kid. I'll cover her._

Maybe the little commander sensed his thoughts, or his intentions. Whatever it was, she glanced at him again, lips curling into a full smile. Even if she couldn't see his face because of the helmet, Bly smiled back.

* * *

 _This story will be more like a collection of little (and probably short) scenes, both in the show and not, all centering on Ahsoka. I wanted to play on this question I've had for a while of 'what do the clones think of Ahsoka? How do they view her?'_

 _Updates will be sporadic. Suggestions are welcome._

 _Read, review. Enjoy._

 _Kisses!_


	2. Slighter

_Takes place in season 3, episode 18 'The Citadel' (yeah, I jumped way ahead. Me and chronological order don't get along so well). Inspiration struck as I was having a TCW marathon. Slighter and Bridge are of my creation. Everyone and everything else is George Lucas. Or Dave Filoni. Or both._

* * *

 **Through the Eyes of Captain Slighter**

Captain Slighter sat as still as possible, despite the discomfort of his injuries. If he even twitched his fingers, the Commando droids moved as if to use him for target practice. His legs were starting to hurt, though, from maintaining the same position for so long. And, his _shebs_ was starting to go numb. Which only compounded the pain from his other wounds.

Captain Tarkin, the mongrel officer, shifted slightly, straightening. Immediately, the droids turned their attention to him, and Slighter took the opportunity to shift as well, trying to bring feeling back to his backside. His brother, Lieutenant Bridge, glanced at him from the corner of his eye. _You good, captain?_ Slighter twisted his lips into a slight grimace, only noticeable by Bridge, and shifted again. Bride, understanding his predicament, curled one side of his mouth up in a small grin, eyes twinkling with amusement.

Behind the amusement, though, Slighter saw weariness. Bridge had been injured, too, more internal than Slighter, and the captain knew his brother risked bleeding out into himself the longer they remained prisoners. If only they were able to _kriffing move,_ maybe he'd be able to alleviate some of his brother's pain. And maybe some of his own.

The mongrel had stilled and the Commando droids had returned to staring at the wall above Slighter's head, their oculars lit up bright white, eerily similar to human eyes in shape and style. _Of course. Humanoid droids. Naturally._

The pain in his legs flared to nearly intolerable. _To kriff with it._ Having past the point of caring, he levered himself with his hands, sliding back on the metal bench. The movement made pins and needles prickles up and down his legs and _shebs,_ and he sucked in a soft breath between his teeth. As he'd expected, the droids raised their guns, but he didn't hear the distinctive sound of the weapons charging up. Maybe they knew he didn't pose much of a threat in his current state. That thought sent bitterness through him, laced with anger, and provided a momentary relief from the pain that was slowly consuming him. _I'll still fight you to my last breath, clanker. You and your master._

Oh, yes, he'd had the joy of meeting the warden of the Citadel, who'd introduced himself as Commander Sobeck. He was Phindian, soft-spoken and quite ugly in Slighter's opinion. He was also the man who was responsible for the clones' current predicament. _Guess I should include the mongrel into that. He doesn't look to comfortable, either._

As if thinking about him pushed him into action, the mongrel stood, one arm behind his back, the other raised slightly in front of him, his chin tipped up in a manner that spoke entirely of arrogance. His body language screamed haughtiness and exaggerated self-opinion. Slighter had to stop himself from snorting. _Keep that up, mongrel, and you'll have us all dead._ He could only hope the clankers weren't programmed to read body language.

"Droid," in his cultured, high-society voice, the mongrel's word dripped disgust and irritation. Both the droids' heads spun to stare at him with those glowing oculars. Seeing he had their attention, the mongrel continued. "I would like to be aware of what your commander plans to do with us. As prisoners, we are of no use to him."

Slighter closed his eyes in defeat. Beside him, Bridge tensed, instinctively readying himself for the fight that the mongrel's words were going to cause. The droids just stared at Tarkin, then returned to staring at the wall above their heads. Something in Slighter relaxed, and he suddenly felt the adrenaline in his veins. He hadn't even realized it was there. Bridge relaxed, too, a small breath of pain pulling from his lungs. Slighter glanced at him, and his brother just gave a small tilt of his chin, a reassuring nod. _I'm okay, sir._

The mongrel, no doubt realizing that the droids had just insulted him, took a step closer. Slighter's defeat turned to morbid amusement. The mongrel, with his pride of status, was going to get himself killed, perhaps only himself. The droids seemed more intelligent than others Slighter had encountered. Maybe they'd realize that the mongrel was the only one causing trouble.

Before he could open his mouth, though, Bridge, ever the peace-keeper, sat up straighter. "Captain, perhaps you can request information at a later time."

Tarkin froze, turning his head slightly, and Slighter knew his pale blue eyes were glaring ice daggers at the lieutenant. He didn't say anything, though, and neither did Bridge, both waiting with anticipation to see if the mongrel captain would take Bridge's respectfully suggested advice. The seconds move by slowly, creeping through the tense atmosphere in the cell. Finally, Tarkin moved back to the metal slab provided as a bench, and the two clones managed to breathe somewhat easier.

Silence fell over the cell again, silence and stillness. It didn't last, though. The stillness, not the silence. The mongrel, as insulted and angry as he was, was unable to remain still. His fingers moved, clenching and unclenching in fists, body tense to the point he nearly vibrated. He did, however, remain silent, and Slighter felt a flash of derisive approval. _Good mongrel captain. Good boy._

After many minutes, though, the mongrel calmed down. Slighter had the strong suspicion he had almost literally swallowed his anger. Whatever he had done, he had returned to his usual mask of indifference, and his body language was once again at its usual level of haughtiness.

The droids moved suddenly, and all the men in the cell tensed. They didn't come at them, though. Instead, they shifted slightly towards the door, and Slighter knew they had picked something up on their sensors. Then he heard it, the sounds of footsteps. He recognized those footsteps. Clones, brothers, their boots on metal hallways. Softer footsteps, Force-enhanced. He knew the sounds of that, too. Working with a Jedi General allowed a man to learn it. Three Jedi, no, four Jedi, one of which was his general. Two of the Jedi were similar size and build, and the fourth was smaller, lighter.

The droids looked at each other. One spoke, its voice, low and mechanic, grating against Slighter's ears. "I hear something."

There was a moment of silence from outside, then the sound of a lightsaber activating. One of the droids walked up the steps that led to the door, and Slighter and Bridge shared a glance, knowing what would follow.

The saber slice through the door, through the droid, ending its mechanical existence, and the other one hefted its gun. This time, Slighter heard the sound of it being charged, though the droid didn't charge out the door. It hung back, falling into a slight crouch, waiting, and he realized that these Commando droids were much smarter—if such an adjective could even be applied to a piece of machinery—than the regular B1s and SBDs he was used to dealing with.

Everyone in the cell waited with baited breath, the taste of freedom so near. Nothing happened for one second, two seconds, and then door slid open. Again, nothing. Slighter counted the seconds if only to occupy his mind. The pain from his injuries was all but forgotten, his discomfort having fled at the sound of the footsteps.

Suddenly there was movement, a blur of burgundy and black, of russet and white and indigo, swinging from the door frame into the cell, onto the droid. Burning yellow-green joined the colors, driving through the droid's head and disappearing as quickly as it appeared. Slighter stood, two of the three other clones in the cell following. Bridge didn't, though, and Slighter knew his brother was in much more pain than he was letting on.

General Piell ran down the stairs into the cell, and the mongrel captain stood. Slighter was aware of them speaking, but his attention was on the blur of color which had formed itself into a young Togrutan woman. She was beautiful, tall with muscles rippling under her skin and pale blue eyes that—unlike the mongrel's—had a softness in them at the same time they dared anyone to get in her way.

 _Beautiful and brave,_ Slighter realized, _to have come on a mission like this._ The two lightsabers clipped to her belt suggested talent; after all, not many Jedi were ambidextrous, most preferring to fight with only one saber. Her entrance into the cell indicated agility and energy, not unexpected of a Jedi, but still enough for Slighter to be impressed by her. Her stance, body language, it all screamed vigilance and protectiveness and hints of defiance, though Slighter could only guess at _what_ or _who_ she was defying.

And then there was the fact that she was female. He had never seen a female, not really, not in real life, real flesh. He'd seen them through illicit videos hacked into on Kamino, pictures and pin-ups some of the men had, paintings and drawings the men did, holocom conferences he sometimes had to sit in on. But never real, and never this close.

She was, he decided, more than beautiful. She was magnificent, everything he believed a female should be. Strong and capable and colorful, and suddenly her eyes darted towards him, as if she could hear his thoughts, and her lips quirked up in a small smile, eyes narrowing into a playful look. Slighter blushed, remembering all he'd heard about Jedi and realizing she probably _had_ heard his thoughts. Instead of being upset, though, or insulted at his attention, at the thoughts of a mere _clone,_ she had embraced it, offered a smile, and that was something he'd never expected from any Jedi, or any female.

The discussion ended, the group split up. Slighter and Bridge went on with General Skywalker and the female, his Padawan, Commander Tano. The mongrel captain was with them, as well, but Slighter found he suddenly didn't mind so much. His pain was at a much more manageable level, his brother was with him, and he was following a Jedi-female who had given him the gift of a smile.

He'd noticed the other captain, Captain Rex he'd introduced himself as, seemed very protective of the commander, as protective as she was of the rest of the men. He didn't hinder her, though, and even though they were simply walking, Slighter saw they moved in tandem, as a team, the way only long-time friends and warriors could. Slighter envied the captain for a moment, but only for a moment. He had his brothers, and her gift. Even if he dreamed about it, he didn't really want the relationship with her the other captain seemed to have.

However, he would give her his loyalty. General Piell was a good general, but the commander was _colors._ Colors and smiles and defiance. _I've got your six, commander._ Once again, she must have sensed his thoughts, or heard them, or his intention, because she glanced at him over her shoulder, another smile curling at her lips, eyes soft and friendly and welcoming.

Two gifts in less than a day. Even if he never served with her again, even if he died on this planet, in this prison—as he expected would probably happen—he'd leave with his memories of her defiance, his dreams of her colors, and her gifts of smiles.

* * *

 _I see a recurring theme of smiles. Oops haha I really do love Ahsoka's smiles though #GirlCrush_

 _I might have messed up the timeline of the episode a little bit (I think the droids hear the lightsaber, not the footsteps. Oh, well)._

 _Next one will probably be from season 1 again, Ryloth or maybe the Blue Shadow Virus arc. We'll see. Again, suggestions or ideas welcome._

 _Read, review, enjoy._

 _Kisses!_


	3. Spinner

_This is a non-episode tidbit, starring one of my OCs. For timeline's sake, it takes place somewhere between season 2, episode 11 '_ Lightsaber Lost' _and season 2, episode 20 '_ Death Trap.'

 _Spinner is from my story '_ The Strays.' _If you haven't read it, quick background: he works under a woman named Leslie, who is rather unorthodox in her leading style, and treats them all more like best friends than subordinates. Because of this, Spinner does have experience (non-sexual) with woman, so his take of Ahsoka is going to be slightly different from Bly's and Slighter's.  
If you have read it, this takes place somewhere during chapter eight._

 _Jesse, Ahsoka, Rex, the 501st - all are George Lucas (just in case no one knew :P)_

* * *

 **Through the Eyes of Spinner**

Spinner studied the Dejarik board with as much focus as he would apply to diffusing a bomb. Jesse sat across from him, also staring at the game board, his blue-trimmed armor gleaming softly in the lighting. Leslie sat at his feet, leaning back against his armored legs, and though he couldn't feel her body heat, he knew it was warm, and it was easy to imagine the warmth seeping through the plastoid and to his skin. Other troopers sat around, watching the game, but his focus remained solely on the board, Jesse, and his squad leader.

"Stuck, vod?" Jesse teased, voice innocently curious. Spinner quirked an eyebrow—a gesture he'd picked up from Leslie—and made his move, killing one of Jesse's pieces.

He grinned up at his brother. "Not at all."

At his feet, Leslie nudged his knee slightly and he glanced down, noting the strands of hair he'd been playing with had gotten caught in his gloves. He carefully worked them free, momentarily rubbing her scalp where the hair had pulled. Jesse—and all the other troopers—watched the interaction closely, curiously, though none of them said anything. After her continuous presence for a few hours, they'd become desensitized to her. _Though,_ Spinner felt a small grin curling on his lips, remembering the night cycle she'd shown up at the squad's temporary barracks they currently shared with another squad, her bottle of liquor in her hand, her teasing smile playing on her lips, _if she does anything other than sit here, they'll need to get used to her all over again._

The 501st wasn't so bad, though. Not as bad as the 212th had been. The 212th, who was _all_ male, had reacted to Leslie's presence in a way that was to be expected from men who had never seen a female before. They had stared and whispered, had dared to even _hint_ that she was incapable simply because she wasn't a clone and wasn't a Jedi.

Spinner's grin grew, remembering Sergeant Rev's response to one 212th trooper who'd made a rather rude comment revolving around Leslie's leadership, and how she managed to _earn_ the loyalty of her squad, and then _keep_ it. The sergeant had looked at the trooper, face hard, eyes ice, and simply said, "Sit down with your soldier superiority, son."

"Have we missed a joke?" Jesse's voice was light, his curiosity genuine this time. Spinner blinked, bringing his attention back to the present, to the game, to his brother.

He shook his head. "No."

Leslie's voice sounded softly from the floor, half-asleep as she was, laced with laughter and mischief. "Liar."

Jesse's eyes widened fractionally at what he perceived to be an insult. For a leader to call her man a liar implied she didn't trust him, couldn't rely on him. Spinner, however, chuckled, catching strands of her hair between his fingers again and starting to twist. He shrugged a shoulder, meeting Jesse's gaze. "Just thinking."

One of the watching troopers snorted with laughter. "Dangerous pastime for a clone."

Spinner just smiled, staring at the board. "Your move, vod."

Jesse nodded, sparing an extra moment to glance briefly at Leslie, and Spinner knew he was trying to decide if she had been teasing or not. Yes, the 501st was definitely better to be around. In his opinion, at least. They had that commander, the little Jedi Padawan, all bright-eyed wonder and glittering curiosity. They worked with a female, maybe not every day, but enough to have a basic idea of how _not_ to act around one.

Inadvertently, he started comparing his squad leader to the Jedi girl-child.

Leslie was hard; hard muscles that moved under tan skin, hard words that promised pain to anyone who dared to harm those she cared about, hard looks that she used when someone didn't _listen_. She was also soft; soft smiles paired with eyes that danced with trouble and mirth, soft touches after a long mission that offered comfort and companionship, soft stories that had them all holding their stomachs in laughter.

Commander Tano was, she was—Spinner thought for a moment. She was small, but only physically. Leslie had taught him that a person's size was determined by their mind and their spirit, and that little Padawan had a wonderfully large mind and a magnificently large spirit. She was big, full of laughter for her men, teasing looks, sassy words. She was eager, willing to help, to learn. Intelligent, clever, prepared to do whatever she could for her men.

Spinner had seen her in the mess, sitting with the captain and the medic Coric, laughing loudly, laughter that seemed to fill the room with something light and happy, and made every trooper present smile, just a little smile as they wondered what could possibly be so funny for their commander to have to hold on to the captain's pauldron to keep from falling off the bench.

He had seen her in the gym, occupying the far corner, and he knew it was to keep out of the men's way, to keep from distracting them— _which means she's thoughtful, too, considerate._ She had been practicing one form of saber combat, going through the steps, twisting and bending and turning, a whirl of glowing green. Her placement in the corner, as mindful as it had been, didn't help. As if someone could avoid being distracted by her, by her skills with the lightsaber, by the power that swelled within her lean, still-growing body. Even Spinner, used to Leslie's flirting and teasing and skills, used to Omari's looks and food and leans, even he had gotten distracted by that little Jedi for just a moment, pausing to watch her fly.

Because she did fly, it seemed, toes barely touching the ground. She would fly and spin and dance. Not the dancing Leslie did, or Omari did, not the dancing that had been at that gala when Leslie had been pressed against his chest, beautiful dress flaring out as she twirled. The dancing the Padawan did, it was spine-tingling, awe-inspiring, the green saber her dance partner as she practiced the routines, changing and adapting as needed. The dancing the Padawan did was as virulent as it was beautiful, and Spinner knew that for all her skills, all her talents, Leslie would never quite be able to do the dance of the little commander.

He had seen the two of them—Leslie and Commander Tano—walking through the hallways, arms draped over each other, nearly the same height, a spot of black hair and tan skin and ice-blue eyes, of white and indigo montrals and russet skin and sky-blue eyes, bright in the dull grey-black-white background that was everything else on the _Resolute._ He had trailed after them, needing to speak with his squad leader, but unwilling to interrupt them. He could almost see the laughter coming from them, the laughter that hadn't yet found the light of day, but he knew eventually would, simply because they both _laughed_.

Another nudge at his knee told him it was his move again. He studied the board, another smile curving his lips up as he saw the mistake Jesse had made, the mistake that would cost the tattooed clone the game, and make Spinner the winner.

Jesse groaned even before the move had been made, finally seeing his error and knowing he had lost. Spinner chuckled, keying in the final move, then declaring himself victor to whoops of congratulations from the observers.

At his feet, Leslie opened her eyes, smiling sleepily. "You won?" Spinner nodded, twisting a stray curl around his finger. Her smile widened and she turned her head, placing a soft kiss on his armored thigh, directly above the knee. "Good job."

She shifted position slightly, curling more towards his leg, resting her head on his thigh, eyes closing once more. Jesse and the others were once again watching. Spinner looked at them, waiting for a comment of some sort. Instead, Jesse just shook his head slightly. Spinner raised an eyebrow.

"Something to say, vod?" The words might have been dangerous, but they were spoken with laughter in them. Jesse shook his head again.

"She's acting like a tooka cat."

Spinner made a show of glancing down at Leslie, once again resting his hand on her head, then back up to Jesse. "You mean your commander doesn't fall asleep on you like this?"

Chuckles and snickers erupted, respectfully quiet of the resting woman. Spinner grinned to himself. Leslie could sleep through anything or wake at the slightest sound, depending on where she was, who she was with. They didn't need to be quiet. She was with him, and he had promised he'd do his best to keep her safe, keep her alive. He wouldn't risk losing her, not like he'd lost his first squad. So he had promised, and he had told her, the promise whispered in her ear after one particularly long mission. She knew his promise, and he knew that because of it, she was sleeping soundly against him, uncaring of the others around them.

He wondered if that little commander had anyone, the way Leslie had him. He wondered if that little commander had someone who promised, maybe not whispers in her ear, but promises said with action and battles and blood, with softly-spoken encouragement and roughly-yelled orders. He wondered. Maybe the general. Spinner could tell the man had made his promise to someone, he could tell. _Though, thinking about it, it wasn't made to the commander._

Not the general, then. One of the clones, maybe. One of the medics, perhaps, or one of the 501st's token ARC troopers. _Or,_ the thought struck him, _the captain._

She sat beside him in mess, ran beside him in battle, rested beside him while waiting for news about the injured directly after a battle.

Leslie had Spinner's promise, and in turn she had given him smiles and laughter and gentle kisses, and a slow-dance while on a mission; she had given him love. She was fire, blazing and burning and scorching anyone who got in her way, and, warming everyone she _loved_.

The commander flew and spun and danced. She laughed with her men, with Leslie. She shared stories with them, meals with them, pain with them. She was big and eager and intelligent, and Spinner suddenly understood why Leslie said she _sparkled._

Because she did. The little Padawan _sparkled_ with a life-force so great and bright that it touched everything and everyone that came near it, touched and left, and Spinner knew that it had touched Leslie, and it had touched Sergeant Rev and the rest of his squad, and it had touched him.

He knew Leslie and the commander were friends, more than friends. They were adopted family. He'd heard what Leslie called the girl, their heads bent together in secret giggles that only brought trouble. _Vod'ika,_ is what his squad leader called the little Jedi. _Little sister._

He knew then, all at once, why _she_ , the young Padawan, had been the one, out of a galaxy of beings, despite the fact that Leslie had a sister in Omari, he knew why _she_ was the one honored with the title of vod'ika.

He smiled. _Welcome to the family, vod'ika._

* * *

 _Yeah? Or should I stick with canon characters? haha_

 _The 'token ARCs' sentence is a nod at Jade-Max's story '_ The Clone Wars: Captain and Commander,' _chapter 10._

 _Read, review, enjoy._

 _Kisses!_


	4. Kix

_This scene was inspired by a comment left by_ DeathGoddesses.

 _Idk, man, I really love this one. It might just be my favorite so far._

* * *

 **Through the Eyes of Kix**

Kix was a medic, and that meant he knew clone anatomy inside and out, and where to press hard because it wouldn't hurt as much and where to be extra cautious around the wound because the nerves were beyond sensitive.

But that was what he knew: _clone_ anatomy, and the girl sitting in front of him was most definitely not a _clone_.

The new commander - Padawan Commander Tano - was Togruta, and female, and those were two things Kix most definitely did _not_ know inside and out. He'd seen her around, of course he had, wandering the rubble of Christophsis, scaling the cliffs of Teth, dancing and jumping around the halls of the _Resolute._ But she he hadn't been this close to her yet, where he could see the pulse point in her throat, and he could smell the sweat and carbon discharge and burned ozone on her skin.

The medical tent was quiet, the business of the outside muted to faded bustle of sound. The flaps fluttered in a light breeze, filtering out the stale air. It also meant he was entirely alone in this, in treating with the commander, in being with her.

Big blue eyes blinked up at him and _fek, Coric, why can't you do this?_ Because Coric had been the one to treat her previously, and Kix would, at the moment, much rather it be the senior medic than _him._

But it had to be him, so he swallowed and took a discreet breath. "Commander, could you tilt your head a bit? You have a bad burn on your neck I need to check."

She flashed him a quick smile he assumed was meant to be reassuring, but it didn't reassure him one bit. _The captain is protective of her, the general, too, oh fek, and everyone else in Torrent. If I mess this up, I should just give myself to the droids._

"Are you okay, Kix?"

His hand jerked at the sound of her voice, the disinfectant wipe pressing against her wound a bit _too_ hard and she hissed softly through her teeth. His face burned with shame and embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, commander."

Even though her teeth were gritted against whatever pain he'd inadvertently caused her, she managed another smile. "Nothing to apologize for, Kix. I didn't mean to startle you."

And now she was apologizing for _his_ mishap, and _I really hope no one hears anything about this._ He gently pulled the wipe from the burn site, picking up a pair of tweezers. Small bits of debris were stuck to the burned flesh and could cause further damage or infection if left alone.

"Commander, this might hurt a bit."

"Always does, Kix. Just get on with it."

Despite the teasing tone, he glanced at her face momentarily, because her words could mean many different things. Her face reflected her voice, though, soft humor brace against pain, and he managed a small, unsure smile back before focusing his attention on the burn.

"Kix?"

The movement of her speaking moved the wound and he almost pricked raw flesh with the point of the tweezers. _Kriff, commander, a little warning._ And he heard her voice again, soft and subdued, "Sorry, Kix, I'll let you focus."

And now she thought he'd snapped at her and there was no doubt he was going to be run over by a Star Destroyer as soon as the captain found out. He had to think over his words carefully because he hadn't spoken to her at all yet except for things medical-related.

Silence fell through the tent again as he chewed on his words. "I didn't mean any offense, commander, but when you speak it moves your neck. I'd rather not puncture an artery while having a friendly chat with you, sir."

There he'd said it, and even done his best to inject a bit of humor. In his peripheral, he saw her fingers grip the edge of the table she was seated on, but then he heard what sounded like smothered snickers and risked another glance up. Sharp teeth bit into dark lips as she tried to keep from laughing, and those pale blue eyes sparkled up at him.

She laughed easily then, and was graceful in receiving corrections. She was _young,_ he realized suddenly, picking the last bit of rock from the burn and grabbing a bacta patch. Young and bright and curious, with blue eyes and orange skin and, _she's pretty._ And _that_ hit him so suddenly he almost dropped the bacta patch.

Of course he'd _known_ she was attractive. He'd heard the others talk about it and he _had_ seen her, he'd just never _thought_ about it. But now he was, and now he realized, and his fingers were trembling slightly as he pressed the patch's adhesive against her skin.

"Can I talk now?"

Her voice broke through the silence of the medical tent, and the tension in his body, playful and teasing and _friendly._ He looked at her face again, blue to amber, and couldn't help the small smile that curled on his own lips.

"If you must, commander."

She laughed, more a chuckle than a girlish giggle, but that was more fitting, he supposed, more fitting to her situation and her position and her new life.

"Why are you scared of me, Kix?"

 _Kriff._ Of course, he should've know. Jedi, with their mind reading and emotion sensing and the Force. She'd know how he felt about her. His face burned red. "Not of you, commander. Just the situation." She blinked up at him, innocent curiosity, and he sighed even as his blush intensified. "Never treated a female before, commander. And the captain would use me as target practice if anything went wrong."

She could feel his embarrassment, he just _knew,_ but she didn't say a word about it, and that meant she was much kinder than she needed to be. "Aw, no, Kix. I wouldn't let that happen. You're more fun to tease than Coric is. I wouldn't want to lose that so soon."

 _That_ didn't help his blush at all, and he ducked his head, intent on blocking everything out except her next wound, a long scrape along her exposed midriff. He couldn't, though, because she laughed, actual laughing instead of chuckling, and it was one of the happiest, most glittering sounds he had ever heard. It echoed around the otherwise quiet tent, curling around the two of them and cutting through his embarrassment.

She didn't say anything else as he cleaned and bandaged the scrape. Her skin was warm beneath his fingers, the heat seeping through his gloves, but he did his best to _not_ think of that. Warm and friendly and pretty and _focus, Kix, focus._

He finished treating the scrape and she lifted her leg for his inspection, still silent. His eyes darted to her face long enough to see the amused smile twitching on her lips even though she was doing her best to hide it. In return, he felt his own lips twitch into a smile, and realized this was a game for her, and it could be a game for him, too, if he wanted.

Grasping her calf loosely—it was so small his hand curled around it—he took a small, steadying breath and took the plunge. "So, commander, how do you like the Five-Oh-First so far?" His finger gently probed the forming bruise as he gauged her reactions. She hissed sharply between her teeth and her leg jerked slightly in his hold.

"Oh, you know, all excitement and adventure with you macho boys."

"Hope it's not too exciting for you, commander."

She laughed, her leg moving in his hold as he tried to apply some of the healing bacta gel onto the bruise. He missed, scraping the cold gel right _beside_ the bruise, and that made her laugh harder. He tried, really he did, to keep a straight face, to remain the stern medic, but she was too happy, too _bright,_ and he couldn't help laughing with her.

They must've been louder than Kix thought, because Coric stuck his head in, peering around curiously. "Everything okay in here, commander?"

She stopped laughing long enough to smile at him, a dazzling smile that the senior medic returned almost instinctively, it seemed.

"The thing that sounds like a dying nexu is me, Coric. Kix is killing me with his jokes."

Coric raised an eyebrow even as his smile remained. "I didn't know Kix joked."

The commander shrugged, offering Kix a conspiratorial grin, one that he returned. "Learn something new every day, Coric."

He chuckled and saluted, but it seemed more playful than serious. "Yes, sir, commander." And then he left, and it was just Kix and the commander.

He finished applying the bacta—in the right spot this time—and she jumped off the table. "Thanks, Kix." And then she was out the door, darting and bouncing, no doubt off to pester the captain or general with more questions about this and that.

 _That wasn't as bad as it could've been._ And it wasn't. If she wasn't as happy and friendly and bright, if didn't laugh as easily or share smiles as much, it could've been much worse.

Kix smiled to himself, a small one that was meant only for his memories. He'd have to do some research in his down time, about the anatomy of a Togruta and the anatomy of a female. Though, he realized, tending to the commander's wounds would probably be something no informational text could prepare him for.

After all, none of his informational learnings on Kamino had prepared him a too-small Jedi-girl who smelled like battle and laughed like it was the best day of her life.


	5. Fives

_So, I was intending for the 5th installment for this story to be all Rexie and RexSoka, but then, well this idea happened. Rexie and RexSoka will have to wait until next time I'm afraid._

 _This chapter is a bit more doom and gloom. You've been warned._

 _Also, send virtual cookies or something to **Keep Calm and Be Ninja** for having the patience to deal with my excessive love of commas and giving a few helpful (and bettering) suggestions for the Kix chapter._

 _Oh, another warning: excessive commas (but this time I really did it on purpose. Pinky promise)._

* * *

 **Through the Eyes of Fives**

Fives, like most clones, had near perfect recall. He remembered in vivid detail all his training, standard and ARC, and all his missions, and all his brothers, and all the deaths.

All except Echo's. Memory was funny that way.

He _remembered_ the death, remembered the explosion, the screaming. He remembered, but not in detail. He remembered in snatches, brief glimpses, and maybe it was better that way, because if he could remember all that detail it might drive him crazy.

He remembered the rest of the mission and returning to Coruscant and Arca Barracks, and holing up in a room all by himself. He remembered ignoring a hailstorm of comm-calls, some from Captain Rex, some from Captain Maze, some from General Skywalker. He remembered wondering, for the first time in his considerably short life, how easy it was to desert.

And then _she_ came, burgundy and russet and pale blue. He ignored the knocks on his door, but she wouldn't take no for an answer and used the Force to get past the lock, stepping into the room silently. Fives knew who it was without looking.

"I'm not good company right now, commander."

He couldn't hear her walking, but the air beside him moved as she settled on the floor, leaning back against the metal from of the bunk he was lying on.

"That's okay. Neither am I."

They sat in silence for what felt like a long time, seconds or minutes, or maybe an hour. She was _there,_ simply there, in an unobtrusive way, and he wasn't sure whether he liked it or not.

"You shouldn't be in here. Off-limits for non-clones, particularly females."

His eyes remained fixed firmly on the bottom of the bunk above him, gaze focusing and defocusing. He heard the whispering rustles of clothing. "I'll be fine."

"Right."

They didn't say anything else, not for another long moment. Then Fives sighed, because he had thoughts, bad, dangerous thoughts, and she was _there,_ and maybe she'd listen without judgement.

"You were stupid, commander. Why'd you want to come on that mission?"

He could picture her shrugging. "It was the Citadel. It was supposed to be an _adventure._ " He could hear it then, that something had changed in her, something youthful, childish, innocent. Whatever it had been, whatever had been there, it was gone now.

"Well, did you have fun?" The words felt odd and heavy on his tongue, flat and caustic and bitter all at the same time.

She echoed his sigh. "Loads. Maybe we can go back during spring holiday."

"Clones don't get holidays."

"Shame."

He couldn't tell if she was being serious or teasing, if her mood matched his or if she was trying to cheer him up. He couldn't tell, and he didn't try to. They were talking, and talking was helping. Talking was making him think less.

Thinking, he was learning quickly, was suddenly a very dangerous thing for him to do.

"Fives?" He hummed acknowledgement, and she continued. "I can sense it. Talk to me."

She could sense _it._ He didn't know what _it_ was, but _it_ didn't sound all too great. And talking, talking was good, so he did.

"I had fun, too, commander. With all the electricity and the doors that cut one of us in half. Those commando droids were pretty great, too, and the anoobas? I've always wanted to see how quickly they could kill a man."

There. Words. And now silence.

She moved again, he could hear it as he counted and recounted the cross-beams holding the mattress above his head.

"I miss Echo." _She_ was the first one to say it, to acknowledge that there was an empty space in the room that should have been filled.

And suddenly he could say it, too. "He was the better of us. He deserves a frakin' medal." His throat started closing, eyes burning, and he squeezed them tightly shut. "Did you know, commander, there's no word in Mando'a for hero? Jango Fett was Mandalorian, and in ARC training we were taught more of the language, and there's no word for hero."

"Shame." This time the word was breathed, a soft sound in soft air, cutting through the hard silence that was beginning to suffocate them.

He finally turned his head, looking at her for the first time since she'd entered the room. All he could see were the tips of her montrals, visible over the edge of the bunk. Cautiously, he moved his hand, brushing two fingers gently against the indigo and white, and she turned her head, tipping it back to look up at him.

Glassy blue, puffy and red-rimmed, and he patted the mattress beside him. Yes, he could do this, comforting her. He could comfort her, and focus on her, and then he wouldn't have the time to focus on himself or those dangerous thoughts.

She wasn't crying, not really, and a small smile curled on her lips as she crawled gracefully onto the bunk, settling against his side, stretching out. "Isn't this against the rules?"

"Probably."

She smelled good, clean, fresh and feminine, with hints of bacta and antibacterial. And she was warm, wonderfully so, the heat seeping through his bodysuit, through his skin.

"Echo might have saved the mission. There really should be a word."

He was quiet, trying to find his words, the _right_ words, good words, and then he realized that this was Commander Tano - Ahsoka in this moment - and that good words didn't matter with her. "I should have stopped him. Or gone after him. Or gone instead of him."

She twisted towards him, reaching up a small hand, slender fingers sweeping along his cheeks and coming away moist. So the tears had managed to escape, and he just hadn't noticed.

"It's not fair." Even to him, his words sounded weak and broken, and suddenly he was the one being comforted.

Suddenly she was _there,_ holding him, soothing him, making herself bigger than him in a way that should have been impossible for someone so small. Russet and burgundy were all he could see, warm heat was all he could feel, feminine and bacta were all he could smell, and he clung tightly to that, to her.

Fives wasn't sure what happened, exactly, after that. Again, the vivid details escape him. Again, he was left with snatches and glimpses. But it changed things between them. She was _there_ , really there, whenever he needed, and he didn't have to say anything. She would know, and they'd sit and talk, and sometimes he'd cry and sometimes she would, and sometimes they'd remember Echo and sometimes they did their best not to.

Recollection let him keep most of itself, the good and the bad, the pretty and the ugly. But the most important bits, Echo and Ahsoka—because she was now more friend than commander—only came to him in pieces, fragments. Colors and smells, laughter and smiles.

Memory was funny that way.

It was a good way to remember them, though. Echo was kept alive and young, and she was kept brilliant and dazzling.

He had not, to this day, managed to figure out what _it_ had been, that day in Arca Barracks, but he knew she'd saved him from it. She'd dazzled it away, and dazzled him back to sanity. She had been there when he didn't want her to be, russet and burgundy and watery blue, fresh and clean with bacta and antibacterial new on her skin, warm in a room that felt entirely too cold.

They had shared words that weren't good and weren't right, and that was okay. They had shared heat and broken rules, and that was okay, too.

Echo had been his life, his other half, and she was his _something else,_ something that he didn't quite know but was very important, something that was more friend than commander.

Sometimes, he couldn't quite remember what it was like when she was more commander than friend, when Echo had been alive and beside him. But, that was okay, too.

Sometimes all he could remember was Echo, just Echo, soft and quiet and kind, quoting regulations.

Sometimes all he could remember was her, russet and burgundy and pale blue, indigo and white, bacta and antibacterial and heat. Brilliance and dazzle.

Memory was funny that way.

* * *

 _The part where it says 'they shared heat and broken rules' holds no sexual innuendos. No sex between Fives and Ahsoka, just simple, physical contact and comfort, and her totally disregarding the fact that she wasn't supposed to be there._

 _Idk, I really love this chapter in a different way than the more light-hearted ones. It's just so... *deep sigh*_

 _Am I the only one who thinks so?_

 _Kisses._


	6. Rex

_Oh wow. One chapter late, but it's finally here! The first little segment from Rex's POV. It's not super exciting, but it lays a good foundation for fun stuff later on :P_

 _Also, we're back to happy and shiny in this chapter. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Through the Eyes of Captain Rex**

Captain Rex sighed softly through his nose. The new commander was, well, not exactly what he'd been taught a commander _was._ She was many things—loud, happy, curious, excitable, sassy—but she was definitely not a commander in the way he imagined one to be.

Currently, she was pacing up and down the small width of his make-shift office, lips pursed in a frustrated pout, forehead creased in thought. She came to an abrupt stop, spinning to face him. "Okay, but I don't understand why you can't just say it's a bad idea." Her voice was loud and exasperated, and he narrowed his eyes slightly. She pressed her lips together, chagrinned, and bowed her head slightly, less confident in her next sentence. "It is a bad idea, right?"

Rex took a steadying breath. He had never been great in dealing with younglings. When he'd been a senior cadet on Kamino and they'd talked to some of the younger ones, he'd let others do the interacting. Younglings just weren't his thing. But _this_ youngling was a Jedi, and his new commander, and he knew he better make them his thing, and quickly.

"Commander Tano, would you mind taking a seat?" She hesitated and he arched an eyebrow. "Please, _sit._ " She did, hearing and recognizing the order in his voice. He leaned forward resting his elbows on his desk. "I do believe the GAR chain of command has been explained to you?" It was a statement in the form of a question, and she nodded quickly.

"Yes, it has, but—"

"Then I don't understand what the confusion is." He could get a demerit for talking over a commanding officer, but somehow he knew that wouldn't happen. He doubted she knew what a demerit was or that it existed.

Her eyes narrowed, face hardening. So she knew he'd insulted her, then, but she didn't know she could punish him for it. He decided he wouldn't tell her right at the moment.

A frustrated huff of air escaped her. "Please, Rex, can you _try_ to explain it to me?" He also doubted she knew that forgoing his rank indicated a familiarity that wasn't there. "Because I don't understand. It's simple logic! If it's a bad idea, _say so._ "

Rex closed his eyes for a second and a half. This youngling might possibly be the death of him. Not literally, of course, that was just some civvie idiom he'd picked up.

"There is a way things are done in the military, commander. It is done that way specifically _for a reason._ Not following SOP causes issues to arise." He paused, trying to figure out _any other way_ he could elaborate. One hand gestured to the outside. "If I were to march over to General Skywalker and tell him his plan a bad idea, that would indicate that I lack faith in his ability as a leader and as a general. It would then cause issues among the men, because if I don't trust the general, then there must be a reason, and that means they shouldn't trust him either."

Her mouth formed a soft O and she sank back in the chair slightly. Rex released a soft breath of relief. It wasn't that he had anything against her questions. He welcomed them, in fact, but sometimes it was exhausting trying to explain the same thing in so many different ways because she didn't understand.

It wasn't that he had anything against her as a person, either. She was, well, _fun_ to have around. The men—the few he had left after Teth—laughed often because of her. She treated them as men, as friends, even though she didn't know them all that well. She was bright and happy and _bouncy._

But she was a youngling, and younglings weren't his thing, and a part of him—a very large part—violently protested a youngling leading troops into battle, Jedi or not.

"Rex?" Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts, worryingly quiet and speculatory. Her gaze was fixed on an empty spot on his desk, so intense that he glanced down, too. If anything was there, it was something only she could see.

"Yes, commander?"

Sharp teeth worried small lips. "What if I were the one to tell Skyguy his plan was a bad idea?"

 _Shab._ "I was not implying you do so when I said I couldn't, sir."

She looked up at him, face exasperated, eyes laughing. "I know _that._ But if I did it, you wouldn't get in trouble, right? And it wouldn't cause issues, because I'm just the clueless Padawan who likes to talk back anyways. _Right_?"

The kid was smart, clever in a way that could prove dangerous the more of the war she was exposed to. He suddenly realized that all his previous assumptions of her had to be amended. Smart the way she was, clever the way she was, he was almost certain she knew the affects her actions had on the men. She knew what she was doing when she left called him by name and not rank. She _knew._

He made a small movement with his shoulders that might have been a shrug. "Possibly. I'm not in any way encouraging you to start trouble with General Skywalker, commander."

She waved her hand dismissively. "Course you're not, Rex. This is all my idea. I'm just respecting the GAR chain of command."

His brow furrowed slightly and he made a small noise in the back of his throat. "You aren't, quite, sir." Would she _ever_ understand?

She just grinned impishly and stood up. "Thanks, Rexster. You've been a great help. I'll be back when I have more questions."

He just stared after her. _Rexster? What the kriff?_

* * *

It was near sundown when he saw the little commander again. She was with the general a ways away, obviously trying to convince him of something. Rex had the niggling suspicion he knew what they were talking about.

She caught sight of him and paused in the conversation, waving him over eagerly. Rex paused for a moment, wishing for just an instant he had somewhere to hide, a place to escape to. This was _not_ a discussion he was happy to be part of. Then he straightened his shoulders and changed directions, moving towards his COs.

The general turned towards him at his approach. "Ahsoka was just expressing how _passionately_ she disagrees with my plan." He shot the younger Jedi a slanted look, and she grinned sheepishly.

Rex watched the interaction closely, curiously. The youngling was reckless and careless, but she wasn't stupid. She was, it seemed, well-versed in manipulation, subtle or not, and Rex amended his judgements of her yet again, adding this new discernment to his view of her. Young and reckless, but clever and manipulative, yet with good intentions. It was… odd.

And, if he were reading her body-language right, she wasn't the least bit apologetic for questioning her master's methods. Stubborn and determined—new adjectives to add, also.

Rex cleared his throat softly. "What's she saying, sir?"

Skywalker glanced at his Padawan again, but her face had gone blank, and she just blinked up at him. "She's saying, and I'll give the compressed version, that my plan is stupid and will get a lot of our new replacements killed."

Rex felt his eyebrow creeping up his forehead for just an instant before he remembered to keep his visible emotions in check. "The commander said that?"

A soft huff came from beside them, and a small russet body just about forced its way between them. "I _am_ right here, you know."

The general's lips twitched slightly in a hidden smile, and Rex bit back one of his own. It seemed that Skywalker was just as adept at manipulation and games as his Padawan was. "Yes, Rex, the commander said that. Now, my question is, do you agree?"

Rex pulled his shoulders back instinctively, straightening as much as he could, unsure of when he'd relaxed his posture. "It is, sir, in my opinion that a less obvious approach would be better. For this particular planet, I believe that guerilla tactics would have a better outcome than a traditional military advance."

Skywalker nodded slowly, thoughtful, his expression similar to the one the commander had worn earlier in his office. Rex wondered absently if she was already picking up on some of the general's gestures.

"Alright, Rex, I'll see what we can do." He turned to walk away and a large smile broke out across the commander's face, disappearing quickly when Skywalker turned around. "Next time, just come to me, Rex. I'd much rather get military advice from you than from this clueless youngling." Another hidden smile pulled on his lips as her face morphed into a look of annoyed outrage.

"I'm a _Padawan._ "

She didn't get a response from either man, and let out another small huff, shoulders slumping slightly in defeat. Rex smothered a chuckle. "Come on, commander, I'll show you a few things about fighting guerilla style. I doubt it was something they taught you at the Temple."

She perked up immediately, happily falling into step with him as they made their way back to his office. "Hey, Rex?"

"Yes, commander?"

She pursed her lips slightly. "Why could you say something then, but not before?"

He paused by his office doorway, gesturing she enter first. She did, settling in the same chair as before. He sat in his own, across from her. "It's one thing to disagree outright with my general, and another entirely to give my opinion to a question asked."

The white marks above her eyes pulled together. "That's… complicated."

"It's politics."

Her face scrunched up in an expression of disgust that made him smile. She really was a youngling. Young and naïve and in need of experience. But she was a quick learner, bright and curious. She was strong and smart, and knew how to turn a situation to her advantage. A few months, and he had no doubt she'd be one of the best COs in the GAR.

Seeing his smile, she returned it with one of her own. He hoped suddenly—an odd, random hope with an origin he couldn't figure out—that no matter how much experience she gained, how much of the war she saw, how good an officer she became, that she'd never lost those radiant smiles.

* * *

 _Really sweet, kinda cheesy, but it's bright and shiny and that's what I need right now haha_

 _For timeline's sake, this takes place soon after Teth, so Ahsoka is still relatively new to Torrent. Hope this made you smile as much as it did me._

 _Read, review._

 _Kisses!_


	7. Coric

**Through the Eyes of Sergeant-Medic Coric**

"I need a favor."

Coric wasn't sure she understood the meaning of those words, the depth they ran, just how serious they could be. He also wasn't sure just what the captain had explained to her, and if he should be the one to continue the education the captain was grudgingly determined to give her.

Her voice came through the door of the medbay before she did, and he stood at her entrance. "How can I help you, commander?"

His eyes swept over her form even as she turned to him with a smile, cataloguing all injuries, treated and not, older and more recent. Her skin and montrals were littered with plenty of small burns and scratches—some covered with bacta adhesive, some not—and one wrist was wrapped in a make-shift brace. She was well enough, then; as well as she could be in the middle of a campaign with dwindling supplies.

"Nothing too crazy. Just, well," she trailed off, eyes darting to the side in a gesture he was certain she wasn't aware of. It was a look he'd seen often enough, back on Kamino and on shiny's who were worried the aiwha-bait were still watching. She was hiding something from someone, and wanted to pull him into the conspiracy.

He bit back a sigh, unable to decide if he was flattered she trusted him enough to let him in on the secret, or irritated she was putting him in the middle of it. "Yes, commander?" He prompted when she still hadn't continued.

Ruddy orange cheeks turned darker with an embarrassed blush. "Sorry, Coric. Got a little distracted. Had to make sure he was far enough away."

Coric took the bit of information and added it to what he was slowly gathering. _Something she's hiding from the general._

She _still_ didn't say anything, fingers tapping rapidly against her leg, eyes continuously darting to the entrance of the makeshift medbay. Coric was patient, though, and he waited in polite silence, and finally she cracked. "I need an examination." She stopped again.

"That was part of my training, commander." He tried for humor, knowing she would appreciate it, and got a bright smile in response.

"Right. Um," she paused and took a deep breath, "it'smybreasts." She spit the words out in half a breath, but Coric understood her perfectly.

He blinked once, cheeks starting to heat in a light blush. "May I ask why, commander?"

She was blushing, too, but was, it seemed, determined to see this through. "I got hit by some debris in my chest and it's badly bruised and it hurts to breathe. So," she shrugged sheepishly, "not really breasts? More chest, I think?" The last two sentences ended as questions, and Coric smiled slightly.

She was just clueless, it seemed, in medical happenings. Then he remembered the words that had prompted this entire conversation. "Why is this a favor?" It came out warier than he'd intended.

She scuffed one dirty boot against the ground. "If my master found out, he'd send me away, and if Rex found out, he'd do that, too. And Kix is too," she paused, searching for the word, then her eyes crinkled with laughter, "prudish. It'd make him really uncomfortable." She released a small giggle, and Coric laughed with her, taking a moment to appreciate her respect for his fellow medic's limitations. She was much kinder than he expected. "And none of them can know about it."

So it wasn't really a favor, simply a friend—and he'd like to think they were friends—asking for help. He pulled on a pair of gloves, ignoring the way his face was heating at the prospect of what he was about to do. "Certainly, commander. Up on the table."

She hopped up, pulling her bandeau down without any instruction from him, also blushing. Then he looked, though, and saw the bruise she'd mentioned, and the fact the first pair of breasts he'd seen in person was on his kid-commander slipped his mind. Falling back on his training, the movements so ingrained they were almost instinctual, he gently pressed around the edges of the bruise, gauging her reaction. She hissed in pain and flinched away, and he quickly withdrew his hands.

"What'd you say you were hit with, commander?"

He pulled a disinfectant wipe from his tray of supplies, quickly wiping it over the injured area. She visibly braced against any discomfort, and he gave another small smile. So often she reminded him of the youngling she was instead of the military commander others wanted her to be.

"Falling rocks or something." Her voice strained as he started applying bacta gel. "I don't really know. Denal jumped on me and shielded me from the worst." Yes, everyone in Torrent had heard of his heroic leap onto the commander, all grateful to the veteran. Losing her to battle might just be one of the very worst things to happen in the war. She glanced down briefly. "I already tried bacta. It didn't help much."

The previous embarrassment of the injured area being her breasts had disappeared completely. Coric nodded. "You bruised some ribs, commander, and your sternum." His eyes darted to the bandeau currently resting around her stomach. "You should think about investing in some proper armor." He had trouble understanding the appeal of the garment, seeing as it left much of her skin exposed, and offered no adequate protection. If it was up to him— _it's not, though_ —but if it _was,_ he'd have her outfitted in some good ol' Mando _beskar_. Then maybe she wouldn't be coming to him and Kix so often with so many injuries.

Not that he didn't enjoy her company. She was fun to talk to, interesting, many times asking questions that lead to intriguing conversation. He'd miss her frequent visits, frequent company, but—he glanced at the bruise again—yes, the armor would definitely be worth it.

He produced an adhesive bandage, carefully covering the gel. " _And_ you should have come to me sooner." He finished pressing down the edges of the bandage and stepped back. She returned her bandeau to the correct place, wincing slightly.

"I thought I could handle it."

Coric did sigh audibly this time. Of course she did. She was just a kid, unused to battle, unused to severe injuries. Surely, the most she'd ever been hurt at the Jedi Temple was a scrape on the knee or a bruise on the elbow.

Instead of a direct reprimand, he tried for humor again. "I know it's annoying when you can't do everything yourself, but if you could, then I wouldn't have a job." He'd learned quickly from watching others interact with her, that non-hostile, non-confrontational approaches were the best route when trying to show her the error of her ways.

Maybe, though, he could teach her. Of course, she'd been taught the standard emergency first aid, but there was so much more for her to know. That way—a small smile curled on his lips—she'd be able to _handle it_ the next time it happened.

He got another small laugh from her. "Don't worry. I'll make sure that you don't lose your job. You're too important."

 _Too important. Too important._ The words echoed through his head, and he suddenly wasn't sure what to say. It wasn't something clones were told often, if at all. They were clones, replaceable, _un_ important. But here she was, telling him he was _too important._ It was the first time he'd ever heard anything close to that in reference to any single clone. _And she wouldn't have been here to say it if Denal hadn't shielded her._ He'd be speaking to the captain and general about getting her some armor as soon as he could.

Seemingly unaware of the effect her words had on him, she leapt nimbly off the examination table, offering a bright smile. "Thanks, Coric. Just let me know when I can repay the favor."

She was out the door before he had a chance to tell her she already had.

* * *

 _I had a doctor's appointment, and then I had a thought, and then there was this._

 _No idea when the next installment will be, or what it will be of. It might be soon, though, because I am having lots of fun with this, and it's making me very happy. Also, classes have mostly ended, so I'm starting to get this fabled "free-time."_

 _Read, review._

 _Kisses!_


	8. Cosmos

_Oh, wow, it's been a long time. I am so sorry, guys._ _Next installment, though!_

 _It's another OC clone #SorryNotSorry_

 _I really like him. He's so precious. Insp for him is a Tumblr post (I'd link you guys but my computer is acting up :( )_

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Through the Eyes of Lieutenant Cosmos**

Cosmos huddled close to the fire, well-aware of the young Togruta woman across from him. She was shivering, like he was, but at least he had his climate-controlled armor. She only had her cloak.

 _My fault, my fault,_ he sighed silently, more than ashamed he wasn't able to lead them to the safety of the base. He risked another look at her and was met with piecing blue eyes dancing with flames. He froze. She cocked her head slightly.

"Is everything okay, Cosmos?"

Her voice was gentle, a soothing sound over the crackle of the fire. She'd forgone his rank, suggesting a familiarity they didn't quite have with each other. Was it her way of asking?

Cosmos ducked his head. "Yes, commander."

Commander Tano. He had been excited to work with her, even for something as simple as a trek through the forest. She had been dispatched to oversee his unit's progress on the base they were building, and since he was Second behind the captain, he had been assigned as her guide of sorts.

 _Not that a Jedi needs a guide._ But she was kind and thoughtful, and didn't seem to mind a chaperone as she wandered around the semi-constructed base. She spoke with the men, asking about their roles, how they felt, what they thought could be improved. It was impressive, awe-creating; a Jedi, listening to _clones._

It was only when she started fidgeting that he realized how young she might be, how boring this might seem to her. It had been him who suggested an expedition through the surrounding forest. She had agreed quite happily, those bright eyes lighting up at the thought of doing something else.

The walk through the forest with her was almost fun. They didn't speak, not really, but the few words they exchanged were thoughtful. _Maybe she is offering friendship._

Chattering teeth drew his eyes to her again. She was huddled in on herself, body quivering, cloak as tight around her body as possible. It was almost painful to look at.

Cosmos knew, just _knew_ he'd be getting reprimanded for this. There was nothing he could do about it now, though. Instead he leaned forward slightly. "I can build the fire a bit more, commander."

She was shaking her head before he finished speaking. "A bigger fire will make us visible." Her smile would've been reassuring if her lips weren't blue. "I'll be okay."

Cosmos dug his fingers into the dirt. "I should have been better prepared for local resistance." _Di'kut, di'kut, di'kut._

"And I should have been paying more attention to our surroundings." Her voice was gently admonishing. "This isn't just your fault."

He figured it best not to argue. "Yes, commander."

It was kind of her to share the blame, to try to lift his spirits even as she risked hypothermia. She huffed softly, tucking her hands into her armpits. "Would you mind telling me about your name?"

His head snapped up. Did she know what she was asking? What it meant? _Friendship, friendship_ , was she really offering? Was she aware she was offering?

He cleared his throat once, twice. "Sure, commander." She seemed to settle down more comfortably, leaning closer to the fire, to him. The flames lit her ruddy skin in glowing light, reflected in her eyes; she looked ethereal. "It's not really that exciting."

Her smile of humor was easier to believe than her smile of reassurance. "I doubt that."

He snapped a picture with his helmet cam before thinking about it. This night might be a mess, possibly his worst failure since Kamino, but there was something soothing about the way she looked in the firelight, the way her smile pulled at her lips and crinkled her eyes.

He wondered if her captain, Rex of the 501st, had similar thoughts about her.

"I like the stars. My squad used to tease me about back on Kamino." She couldn't see through his helmet, but he grinned anyways. "Memorizing star charts and systems doesn't make you very popular."

She seemed so _intrigued,_ though, it almost made him want to keep talking. "So you can navigate by stars?"

He nodded. "Yes, commander."

She glanced up, studying the heavy clouds that blocked the sky from view. Something like resigned amusement twitched on her lips as she looked back at him. "Is that why you feel so guilty?"

"Partially." This was a much more candid conversation than he'd ever thought he'd have with a commanding officer.

She wasn't condemning or accusing, though. She was asking, and listening, and seemed more quietly entertained by the entire situation than anything else.

 _Are all Jedi like this?_ He hadn't met another one in his life. Kamino had taught him differently, taught him Jedi were almost like gods, that they couldn't be touched. But this commander seemed so, so _on his level._

"Cosmos," he started slightly at his name, "I think this planet is trying to kick us out." Something like laughter danced beside the fire in her eyes. "Trigger-happy locals, cloudy skies, freezing nights; why would the Republic even want this place?"

Oh, she really was young, he could see it in that sentence. Was he older than her, by years of experience? There was a niggling suspicion he was.

That suddenly made talking with her easier. "I'm afraid I don't have an answer for you, commander. I was hoping you'd know." A tentative attempt at teasing, and she received it happily, the laughter moving from her eyes to her mouth and into the cold air.

Friendship. Yes, it seemed she was offering it.

Did her captain teach her about that, too? He doubted the Jedi did.

"Do you know more than just star charts?" She seemed to want to continue the conversation. "What about myths?"

He obliged her, fathoming the fact that she _wanted_ to speak with him. "I know a few; you probably know more."

A shrug. "Just Togrutan stories."

"One for one?" This time he almost believed she could see his grin through his helmet: her eyes met his through the visor and she smiled back.

"Deal."

It was hours until the clouds cleared enough for him to navigate them back to base; enough time for him to learn more than myths. Childhood stories and crazy adventures and early life in the Temple. In return he shared the lighter tales from Kamino, the pranks young cadets would pull on each other, the unrealistic plans whispered late in the night.

Dawn was breaking when they finally made it back to the base. She paused him as he turned to report to the captain.

"Cosmos."

"Yes, commander?"

The few on duty watched curiously, inconspicuously; he'd be getting questions later.

Her eyes looked paler in the morning light, fire no longer reflecting in them. They held bright curiosity, though. "Would you mind teaching me about the stars while I'm here?"

He blinked once, twice, a broad smile on his lips, faint blush on his cheeks. He had never been more grateful for the helmet. "Of course not, commander. Let's see if we can accomplish it without getting lost again."

Another bit of teasing that she welcomed, her laughter quiet and tired and wholly delighted. She nodded once, confirmation and dismissal, before turning and moving tiredly towards her quarters.

He wondered if they had possibly become friends sometime during the dark, cold night.

###

A short debrief and hot shower later, he set his helmet on his bunk, projecting the still-frame of her into the center of the room.

Fire in her eyes, laughter on her lips. It might have just been his exhaustion, but he thought he maybe saw stars glittering in the flames.

* * *

 _So, as this is almost like my "comeback" post, what'd you guys think?_

 _Again, sorry about my sudden disappearance._

 _Read, review, share._

 _Kisses!_


	9. Echo

_Quick thanks to you guys who take the time to review, even if it's a line or two. Reading them always makes my day 10000x better, even if I can't respond. Love you all 3_

* * *

 **Through the Eyes of Echo**

Echo had never really been one for caf, but late nights had borne a need for the stimulation it provided. He grimaced at the taste, choking it down as quickly as possible.

Quiet laughter sounded behind him.

It was early in the day-cycle on the _Resolute_ , and he had _thought_ he as the only one in mess. Movement to his side proved otherwise. He stood to attention, "Good morning, commander," because only one person laughed like that.

She slid into the bench beside him. "Good morning, Echo, at ease." He moved to parade rest and she frowned slightly. "Kriff that wasn't what I wanted." A smile twitched on his lips. He knew what she'd been trying to say, and was gently teasing her. If her huff of frustrated amusement was anything to go by, she knew what he was doing. "Oh, c'mon, Echo, you know what I meant."

"It's against regulations to break form unless directed by the commander, or the commander leaves." It was a compressed version of the actual rule, and she groaned comically.

" _Echo._ " He still didn't sit. She jerked upright suddenly. "As you were!" It came out much more viciously than she'd intended and her montrels darkened in a blush. It was his turn to laugh as he sat down.

"So," he pulled his datapad back to him, "what can I do for you, commander?"

She tucked her feet under her; an impossible feat for anyone who wasn't so small. "I was awake and bored."

"So I'm amusement?"

She leveled a look at him. "I think _I'm_ amusement for _you_ , actually." The sparkling laughter in her eyes belied the irritation in her words.

He gave her a small grin. "You laughed at me first."

It was such a childish conversation, so simple and easy, one he never ever imagined having with his commander. During his time with the 501st, though, she'd become more than just his commander. She was almost like a kid-sister, maybe even a friend, someone he could be around and act like he was eleven and not twenty-two. It was a sweet relief from all the war; _she_ was a sweet relief, Torrent Company's saving grace.

"I supposed I did." Her words brought his mind back to the now, her heaving sigh brought his body to suppressed laughter. "I could feel your dislike of caf from down the hall; it was funny to see you drink it."

"Ah, so I _am_ amusement for you."

She didn't bother faking another agitated look, just giving into her laughter. So much laughter, so bright and dazzling, from such a little body.

Echo felt a quiet swell of pride that he was the one to draw it forth.

She picked up his empty mug, peering at the remnants of the drink, nose crinkling in disgust. "Have you ever tried tea?"

"No, sir." He marked something on the document he was reading. "I wasn't aware the _Resolute_ had any."

Ahsoka was already nodding. "We do. I don't much like caf, either, so Skyguy got me some as a lifeday present."

A kind gesture from her Master, one Echo thought the general was entirely prone to. Both of them, Master and Padawan, were kind in their own ways, compounded and complemented by each other.

She kept speaking. "It's something like flowers and vanilla. I don't know the exact flavor; the container is in some language I don't know."

"I might know." The words were out of his mouth before he thought of them, the unspoken offer hanging in the air between them. He waited with baited breath; it was an offer he'd give to a friend, but not necessarily his commander.

She positively lit up, though, glowing brightly from some internal light. "Oh, that'd be great!" and she was up and off, bouncing away—presumably to her quarters—and returning within the next moment with the box of tea. It landed on the table in front of him and he grabbed it, stopping it from falling off the other end of the table.

She plonked back into the seat beside him. "What's it say?"

It was a written language he knew, just barely, just enough to read, "Zahra fanilia."

Ahsoka's head cocked as she processed the words, eyes distant. She looked—Echo felt another grin twitching—she looked adorable. A trooper wasn't really supposed to think of their commander as adorable, but at certain times she really was.

That kid-sister, Jedi-child.

"Well," she grinned helplessly, "I don't know that translation, either." She looked at him—not the muut puppy face he had heard spoken of. No, it was more like she was so intensely hopeful that he didn't want to let her down.

He grimaced, eyes light with amusement. "Sorry, commander, can't help you there. I can just read the letters."

Echo assumed it was safe to say she wasn't too bothered by that. Delighted laughter spread from her, and he wondered at the fact that she could laugh without making a sound. Laugh with her body and not her mouth.

She stood again, returning this time with a mug of hot water. The scent of the tea tickled his nose as she scooped the leaves into the water. It was a sweet scent; childhood joy and glimmering fantasies and whispers of dreams.

"Echo?"

"Yes, sir?"

She spooned a modest amount of sugar into her tea. He was surprised. She had always seemed to him to be the heaping-sugar type.

Silence curled around them as he waited patiently for her response. After many moments, her lips curled upwards sheepishly. "I don't know. I feel like I have something important to say, but I can't seem to remember it."

"I've heard that's a sign of being clever-quick." It was a phrase he'd picked up from a story he'd read—by accident, of course. He'd thought it was an instruction manual. Things had gotten lost in translation. Literally.

Her eyes rounded at the new word and he could almost taste her glee for it. "Clever-quick." She sipped her tea experimentally. "Where did you hear that?"

"I _do_ read more than regulations."

Teasing her was fun. She was so receptive to it, so _happy_ to be included in that gesture of closeness. It really was very difficult to see her as his commander and not his little sister in that moment.

"I like it." Her smile was thoughtful even as her eyes gleamed with promises of trouble. "Clever-quick."

The alarm he'd set beeped softly from his helmet and he stood. "I have duty, sir. I'll see you later."

She waved him off, smile flickering between thoughtful and exhilarated. He returned it with a quiet one of his own as he strode off.

 _Kid-sister, Jedi-child_. Under his helmet his smile broadened. _Clever-quick._

* * *

 _Just a sweet little scene, nothing too spectacular. I wanted something with Echo, and I wanted the situation to reflect his character._

 _Maybe in the future we'll have Echo and Ahsoka in action._

 _The phrase that so delights Lil 'Soka, clever-quick, is borrowed from_ Tailchaser's Song. _It's a great book and if you haven't read it you really should._

 _Read, review, share._

 _Kisses!_


	10. Rex, 2

_Guys, guess what. Exactly one year ago (22 November 2015) I published the first scene of this story. Naturally, I had to publish one today, one year later._

 _10 chapters in one year? Not bad. That's about *quick typing on calculator* 1.2 chapters per month._

 _Anyways, enjoy!_

* * *

 **Through the Eyes of Captain Rex**

 **View 2**

Captain Rex wasn't expecting anyone to be awake at this hour. It had been a rough campaign, long and hard and dirty, and everyone—Jedi and clone alike—was exhausted. He, though, had death certificates to sign off on, replacement forms to start filing, duty rosters to shuffle; it was his excuse for being up in the middle of the night. However, "Commander Tano?" he had no idea what her excuse was.

She started at his call, not seeming to realize it was a question as much as a greeting. Blue eyes, usually so bright and bubbly, were dull and tired, even as her lips pulled into a small smile. "Oh, hi, Rex."

Even after months of working with her, practically living with her, it was hard to fight the urge to correct her on the sorts of epithets and military protocol. Instead he stepped up, almost beside her but not entirely. The place of support, of Second, but not quite her equal. "You're up late, sir." An easy opening for conversation, the opportunity for her to offer information as easily as she could shut down his inquiries.

"Yeah." Normally a toe would've scuffed, a shoulder twitched; instead she was still. "Couldn't really sleep." She stared out the viewport they stood in front of. "I needed to see the stars."

The room he'd found her in had been originally designed as a meditation chamber for the Jedi, though Rex knew neither of his assigned mystics used it for that purpose. Instead, it seemed, this room was an occasional escape for the tiny Togruta.

He bit his tongue to keep from ordering her to her quarters. It wasn't his place, he knew, but he also knew that her body was very near running on absolutely nothing. He had seen her in the battle, kept her in his vision as much as he could, almost the entire time.

She had been like a force of nature, a small, lithe body becoming a storm of swirling yellow-green and russet-burgundy. Nimble, agile, a Pittin on the hunting-trail of a rodus, ready to run, jump, leap in for the kill.

Brilliant. She had been brilliant, breath-taking.

And she had taken his breath, so many times in fear, where his heart stopped, where he was certain she would fall to her death or be charred to bits by enemy blasts.

Brilliant and breath-taking, and he hoped he never had to experience something so emotionally taxing again. The rational part of his brain wondered at why it affected him so; the rest of his mind shut down that thought process. Dangerous things lurked in his mind, but unacknowledged they couldn't hurt anyone.

His silence stretched, and she tried for another smile. "Why are you awake?"

He indicated the 'pad in his hand. "Paperwork."

"Oh." Her smile fell, leaving sad eyes and sadder glimmers of something _else._ "Right."

He wondered if she felt guilt. He knew, after months with her that she felt each loss. He didn't quite know how she felt it, didn't know if it was a prick in her mind or a cut in her heart, but he knew it was there, knew it _hurt._ Hurt her like it hurt him, and the reminder of that sent an odd, piercing burn through his chest.

Blue eyes snapped to him, wide, startled. "Rex?" Hands, one on his shoulder, one on his cheek, steadying, holding, supporting. He couldn't feel through his armor, but on his face, skin to skin, cold and soft and small, and he swallowed a breath and stepped back. Just an inch, just enough to provide space between their breaths.

She seemed to realize she'd crossed some unspoken boundary and retreated, too. Steps back until she was closer to the viewport than she was to him, closer to the cold of space and stars, and it was an odd burn in his mind that made him decide he didn't like that. So he released a breath and moved the necessary amount forwards, until he was once more almost-but-not-entirely beside her. "It was a lot of men, lil'un. That's it."

She nodded. "You can stay, if you like." Her hand gestured the viewport, a small movement. "With the stars." If he listened hard enough, he thought he could hear an unspoken _'with me.'_

 _Don't kid yourself, soldier._ She must have sensed something, something in his consternation towards himself, in his fierce reminder of what was _duty_ and what was _not,_ and what was blurring the line. She flinched slightly.

"I can leave. I should sleep anyways."

"No." He was proud he hadn't shouted the word. She looked mildly startled anyways, _did she really think I want her gone?_ He did his best to smile reassuringly. "Stay. I could use some company."

It was funny in a not-funny way, the words they were saying and the words they didn't say in order to tell each other things they weren't sure could actually be shared between them.

She did stay, though, sidling right up to him. While he had regard for the rules of distance as dictated by propriety, she didn't. Her body brushed his armor, and he wished, for one second, then an extra, that he had changed into his soft uniform, if only to feel her heat. Instead he just thought of her hand on his face. Small, cold, soft. Cold, but her body was so warm, _she_ was so warm.

Russet-burgundy, sunny smiles and sparkling eyes of laughter and ferocity.

"Rex?"

"Yes, sir?" If she wouldn't allow space physically, he'd put it verbally.

Her eyes were as cold and bright as the stars they looked at. "Does it get easier?"

He would need her to specify. "What's it?"

She just sighed softly, breath frosting the window. "It."

 _It, it, it._ His fingers tightened around the 'pad. "No." Soft words in soft silence. "It doesn't."

"I don't think I can do this."

It was then he realized the cold and bright of her eyes were tears she was trying to keep back. _Kriff._ He'd never been taught how to respond to a crying superior, or female, or a crying superior who also happened to be a female. But she swallowed a breath and blinked tightly, and the cold and bright disappeared.

"You can, kid," because what else could he say?

She smiled, weak and fragile and everything she wasn't. "Thank you, Rex."

Storm. She had been a storm, a whirlwind, a Pittin. Now she was a small, broken child. _Too young; she's too young to be on the battlefield._ Never mind he himself was even younger than her.

He wasn't sure what else to say, though, or what else to do. So he just shifted his weight into a more comfortable position and glanced at her, noting that instead of cold and bright, her eyes now simply reflected the stars she stared out.

He wonder what she saw among them.

* * *

 _Much less happy-bubbly than our last Rex and Ahsoka snippet. But I really like this one._

 _A Pittin is a type of feline in the SW universe, while a rodus is a rodent hunted by the Pittin. I would've used the tooka cat comparison, but have you seen a tooka cat image? Not the sleek, predatory grace usually associated with Ahsoka. And a Nexu just seemed **too** vicious for this particular scene. _

_Next "episode" I'm thinking of doing a run-in with one of the Nulls, and consequently their take on Ahsoka..._

 _Yes, no, maybe?_

 _Read, review, share._

 _Kisses xx_


	11. Jaing

_Disclaimer: Jaing, and other mentioned characters besides Ahsoka and Rex are the works of Karen Traviss. Ahsoka and Rex are Geaorge Lucas/Dave Filoni._

* * *

 **Through the Eyes of Lieutenant Jaing**

Jaing tipped his helmeted head up towards the sun slightly. He couldn't feel the warmth in the climate controlled bodysuit, of course, but being able to tilt his face towards the sun was nice. It was a rare moment—between espionage and traitor-plans—and he was going to enjoy it.

Coruscant was a bustling city, alive in its own right. Of all the worlds he had been to, the Republic's capital made it into his list of most interesting. From the upper class to the Underworld, with species of every type, there were plenty of places and people for a Mando-clone to get into trouble.

He wasn't looking for trouble, though; not today; _maybe tomorrow._ Today he was just sitting, and tilting his face back, and enjoying a few minutes in the sun.

The people moving around him were a background buzz. Not of any particular interest to him, but for a man born a warrior it was habit to constantly be aware of them. It was his distant awareness that caught the tail end bit of a sentence, "…men say it all the time."

A youngling's voice, holding more question than statement. _Men,_ and Jaing flicked his surround-camera on, searching for the source of the voice. The word itself wasn't out of the ordinary, but they were right near the base, and the clone soldiers were men.

"Yes, sir, but you are neither a trooper nor an adult." Now _that_ voice was familiar. It was the same voice Jaing heard from himself. The same voice he heard from his five brothers.

 _There_ , he pinpointed them. He was right—of course he was. A Togrutan youngling was moving through the crowd with a clone. His words had been exasperated, if vaguely amused, and his expression echoed that. Cropped-close blonde hair glinted in the sun, and though he was in soft uniform, the man walked with that familiar swagger of someone used to compensating for the weight of a _kama. A captain, probably._

Jaing's lips curled up—he saw that same swagger on Ordo often enough.

The Togruta was terribly small in comparison to the clone. Sunset-ruddy skin and midnight-indigo montrals were interspersed with white. Her outfit was that of a huntress, no doubt reminiscent of her Shili-predator heritage, but on her lanky, young body it seemed a half-parsec out of place.

Dark lips were pursed in a considering pout. "I'm older than all of you."

"By barely three years." The captain's voice was gently admonishing, but the look he slanted her was loud with laughter.

Her lips curled in an answering grin.

That was when they finally cut through the crowd, and Jaing was able to see the two lightsabers clipped at her waist. He wasn't surprised, not really. Why else would a captain be calling a youngling 'sir?' But it was still followed by a muted trickled of intrigue.

He hadn't yet seen a Jedi with two lightsabers. Jusik worked with one. Zey worked with one. Even the revered "Chosen One" and his faithful master Kenobi each welded one. It was, Jaing thought, a silent commendation to her skill that she would carry two of the weapon.

The rest of him, the Skirata-raised, Kamino-born little boy curled away from the Jedi, lip curling in disdain. Age and skill didn't matter when you were tearing the galaxy apart for your own gain while carelessly sacrificing the lives of men.

 _Men born and raised for death in battle,_ but ordered by the precious Council, and used with little argument.

The youngling stopped suddenly, body tense with predator alertness. The captain stopped barely a nanosecond after her. _Interesting,_ for the captain to be so tuned into her, their relationship almost surely had to go beyond that of commander and subordinate.

"Commander?"

She tipped her head to the side, blue eyes flicking around the plaza they were walking through. Quickly, but not searchingly. She was _seeking,_ a huntress locked onto her prey. _Osik,_ Jaing cursed his slip of self-control. _Of course_ the little Jedi would've felt his animosity. And, though it was darkly amusing and gave him some sick satisfaction, he didn't blame her for going on the defensive. It showed she was smart.

Her arms were loose, hands by her weapons, but not touching them. Prepared, but not looking for a fight, either. The captain echoed her readiness, fingers of one hand quickly brushing against the wrist of his other. _He has a blade there,_ but he was without his blasters. For whatever reason, the captain was supposed to be inconspicuous. _Not my business._

"An odd feeling, Rexster." The youngling's gaze moved past him, then back. Jaing didn't bother to hide, or run. He simply straightened where he was sitting, rolling that word over in his mind; _Rexster._ So, the Jedi-child had given the captain a nickname.

Jaing wondered if she knew that some clones were insulted by changes to their name; after all, names were one of the only three things a clone owned. The captain didn't seem insulted. Rather, he seemed to straighten with pride, seemed to act towards the Jedi-child with masked affection that wasn't supposed to be between a Jedi commander and her clone captain.

She started towards him with a purpose, the captain moving with her. In tandem, a team flowed seamlessly together. _Interesting._

She stopped in front of him. Jaing studied her more closely. Her stance wasn't confrontational, more curious and wary. She seemed even younger so near, but there was a tired, aged shadow in her eyes. War-worn. He recognized it enough from his own reflection.

"Trooper," her voice was firm, no longer the friendly-teasing tone she'd been using with the captain, but the one of command.

He tipped his head so she was looking directly into the visor. It would be considered insubordinate for a lieutenant to remain sitting the presence of a CO, especially a Jedi. And his silence was more insulting than anything else. But he didn't take orders from little Jedi or their captains.

The captain stiffened, wholly understanding the depth of his snub to the tiny commander. He didn't say anything, though, letting the Jedi lead.

An uneasy silence settled over the three of them. The youngling's mouth was slightly open as she searched for her words. Finally, she settled on, "Do you think you'd be able to answer a question for me?"

Jaing couldn't immediately stifle his flare of surprise, and from the small twitch of her lips she knew it. _Clever little chakaar._ "Depends on the question." He kept his voice low and insolent. It didn't seem to much bother the youngling.

"My friend and I," so his guess was correct—the captain was being kept unknown for some reason, "are having a disagreement about some words. He refuses," she slid the captain a playful glare, and he answered with a look of steadfast righteousness, "to translate some for me, and I think you may be able to help."

Jaing was mildly annoyed to find his interest peaked. "Not all clones are trained in the same languages," _di'kutla Jedi would know this if they bothered to know about their troops._

The Jedi-child was nodding, though, "Yes, I know, but these words seem to be common among all the men." She didn't seem bothered by the fact that he'd outed the captain identity, either, but of course she expected a clone to know a clone.

Ah, Mando'a. Odd, Jaing thought, that she'd want to know the language of the clones, of the Jedi-killer they were made from. He wasn't sure how that fit into his perception of Jedi. "What are the words?"

She spoke slowly, carefully forming her lips around words that were no doubt foreign on her tongue. " _Shab, osik, di'kut, hut'uun,_ " she paused, pulling more from memory, " _chakaar, mir'sheb, or'dinii, shabuir,_ and _laandur._ "

Her pronunciation wasn't bad, and Jaing couldn't help the small swell of amusement when the captain's face fell into something like exasperated resignation. It was the last word that caught his attention, though. _Laandur,_ delicate—and insult to Mandalorian women.

It was a small moment of wonder at who had called this curious Jedi-child delicate. Because while she _looked_ fragile, there was an edge in her movements, a razor-sharpness in her eyes that showed she was much more than appearances.

" _Shab_ doesn't have an exact Basic translation," it did but he figured the captain wouldn't appreciate the youngling knowing it, "it's more of an expletive of frustration." She was nodding, eyes wide with interest and rapt attention. " _Osik_ is shit; _di'kut,_ idiot; _hut'uun,_ coward; _chakaar_ , thief; _mir'sheb,_ smartass; _or'dinii,_ fool; _shabuir_ is similar to jerk, but more extreme; and _laandur_ means delicate."

Her lips puckered in a concentrated frown as she repeated what he'd said under her breath, no doubt storing it to memory. "Delicate?" She turned to the captain briefly, seeking something. Whatever it was, it made something like anger flare in her blue eyes. _I thought Jedi didn't get angry,_ but Jaing had seen Jusik angry, and he'd seen Etain angry.

"In the culture of that language—"

"It's the Mandalorian culture, right?" Suddenly she wasn't a Jedi commander, but an ignorant child searching for answers and desperately hoping she's got it right.

Jaing nodded slowly, once. "Yes." Odd, that she'd know that, that she'd bother to care. She returned his nod, waiting eagerly to hear whatever other bits of knowledge he was willing to offer. "In the Mando culture, calling a woman delicate means you don't think her battle-ready or capable of protecting her family."

The anger flared again and the captain stepped closer than was military regulation. Again, Jaing wondered who had called her that; it was becoming clear she was as ferocious as she was tiny.

She nodded again, somewhat absently, and put a hand on his shoulder. Jaing tensed under her touch, but she only murmured, "Thank you, trooper," and wandered away, continuing to wherever she'd been headed.

The captain gave him a considering look before turning to follow.

Jaing watched them slowly disappear back into the bustling crowd. He knew Etain, and he knew Jusik, and Zey. None of them were so bad—Zey was the worst of the three—but none of them were like that little Jedi-child either.

The body language of her and captain showed a closeness beyond what the GAR allowed, and probably the Jedi, too. Her acceptance of his insults—well, maybe she hadn't known he was insulting her, but something told him she had. She had known and simply ignored it. Maybe because he wasn't her man, maybe because she could sense trying to force her authority would have turned an odd situation to a bad one. Eager for his knowledge, willing and wanting to learn, and not attempting to correct, prove that she knew more or she knew better.

Odd, for a Jedi.

Maybe it was because she was so young. The Jedi hadn't been able to corrupt her yet, to turn her into someone with a disgusting superiority complex. Maybe it had something to do with that closeness to the captain.

The captain she'd given a childish nickname to. The reminder twitched his lips upwards.

Jaing reclined again, tipping his head back and enjoying the sun's warmth that he couldn't feel.

###

It was a few years later when news broke of the rogue Jedi. It was that same youngling, but what caught his attention was her trial, the betrayal of what seemed to be her friend, and her departure from the Order. And the fact that she was the Padawan of the "Chosen One." Captain Rex of the famous 501st and Commander Ahsoka Tano.

He'd heard of them. They'd cropped up sometimes in reports or research he'd done. The two of them together were considered a high efficient team. That was all going to change, though.

Jaing could see, even during the trial, in her body and in her eyes that her mind had been made. She was leaving.

Something dark was coming; the Jedi betrayal was barely the beginning.

Jaing sighed and switched off HNN. Across the room Mereel murmured a distracted question. He answered quietly, moving to make a pot of caf.

Some small, distant part of him, full of warm sunshine and a child's curious questions, was glad she was escaping.

* * *

 _Oh, wow, it has been a while._

 _I really like this one, though. The Nulls have always interested me. I hope he wasn't too OOC; I know the Skirata clan isn't particularly fond of Jedi haha_

 _Let me know what you guys think!_

 _Read, review._

 _Kisses!_


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